ivanfincher

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

The people here stand and move on the ground. They are as small as they could be and their clothing is simple and pocketed and I want to call them farmers. Dirty faces, weathered hands, feet wrapped in hardened leather. Smaller and smaller they seem, their tasks performed and faces without emotion. They are of the Earth.

The stuff resembles a magnificent fungus, mushroom-like caps and stems and it sparkles. Little bits of blue and red. An abundance, and it is their food. I see one of them bend to it and then hand to mouth. His hand dips into one of the pouches tied to his belt. The other one brimming with the stuff, he pulls from this one a shimmering handful of dust and lets it fall to the place whence came his meal. He moves on to another patch of food and takes it, pushing it deep into his swollen pouch. Dust fills in the gap. And again. And each of them doing the same.

The rain comes. It falls from the sky sparsely, but the drops are larger than seems natural. At once, the majority of the small people head in the same direction. Others shelter themselves as best they can and still others stop altogether and stand motionless.

The stuff shoots up out of the ground. Fountains of it and there is more than before. Into the air and then settled and ready. Wherever there is the dust, it is absorbed and changed and exploded.

And so are the people. I see them now as they are; as gathering mounds of the most precious and rare that cycle and cycle into something more than they ever could have been and then into nothing.

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

I asked myself the same question every ten minutes for the next several hours and got the same response. After that I stopped asking; it was just assumed.

Four hours into it I was quite delirious and my thoughts drifted back to the kebab I had eaten right before getting on the train in Brussels. I thought about them explaining my death to my parents, that the disease vector was a pita pocket filled with shitty, rancid meat.

It went on like that for two days. Erika would check on me and bring me water, which I would promptly throw up. Twenty-four hours into it I reached agreement with my body: I would expel everything I’d ever eaten and it would not die. Throwing up became as regular as breathing. I got used to retching over the toilet for half an hour and not producing anything.

The thing about food poisoning that no one tells you is that you have to mind both ends. This is because no one can think of an eloquent way to say that you will strain so hard to vomit that you will shit yourself.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Rob had been there with him when the roommate discovered the powerful psychotropic effect that the orange beverage induced. Just the smell of the powder, he had said, sent a cascade of recollection through his mind. He would suddenly be privy to details surrounding toys, days, people; all for which he had no context, no reference.

Then it would be gone. And as the fragments of his childhood fused back into his subconscious, Rob could see the pain in his roommate’s face. Fighting a losing battle against badly wired neurons and misfiring synapses seemed an excruciating thing. Never, Rob had thought, was the roommate more desperate than when he was coming down from one of these trips.

Rob could understand this. In fact, he thought the roommate lucky. To find a way back, if only for a moment, was something of great value. To him, it aligned with the idea that we spend our lives trying to recreate the happiness we felt in the womb.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

This fucking guy.This fucking Macy’s mannequin, with his off-the-rack shirt and tie combo and bold colors that are supposed to exude confidence.“What five words would you use to describe yourself?” he asks.

“Does well-hung count as one or two?” I think to myself.

He looks up from his clipboard and I know the interview is over before it begins. I straighten my tie and look him in the eyes.“I would say that I am hardworking, a leader, ethical, creative, and uh…” I pause enough between each quality to make it seem like I’m really thinking about it, so that he thinks he’s asked a good question. “I can’t really think of the word for it right now…” I stall. “It’s like when…I’m a really good communicator and I speak well to others and…”

He stares at me blankly. I look at the ground.“I know there’s a word for it…” There is a long silence.“OK,” he clears his throat. “Well I have your resume and…”“Articulate,” I say. “I’m articulate.”He stares at me a moment longer.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Elgin Clark did not at first like American football, but he liked to think that he could appreciate the strategic nature of it.

There was, he had always thought, something inherently and particularly American about the sport. Maybe it was that he felt that they used sixty or seventy men to do a job that could be done by less than half as many. Or perhaps it was the fact that an American football game was, to him, eerily reminiscent of the earliest American Civil War battles, which were attended as though they were sporting events by socialites and their families.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

I realize now that doing business is very much like the mating rituals that we do.

Please keep in mind that in writing this I do not mean to profess any proficiency or even adequacy as a salesman or as a cocksman. This is just, I suppose, what I have seen work. In business and with the beautiful babies.

You have to start off by projecting that the deal (or the sweet, sweet vajee) is the farthest thing from your mind. It's "Tao of Steve;" that bit about how when he's hanging out with a woman, he's just hanging out. If there is business (of either variety) to be done, they're going to have to meet you at least half way. Because, after all, you don't need them. You can walk out the door, nothing having transpired, and be completely even keel.

You can't be in a rush to be finished. No one likes to be hurried; it tends to sour things. Give the other person the spotlight for at least their share of the time.

The less you have to talk, the better. Ask questions that project genuine interest and demonstrate that you have, in fact, been listening. It's all about them. Keep them talking.